Stairway to Heaven
by Disgruntled Peony
Summary: Takes place after the end of the series. Spike survived the assault on the Red Dragon headquarters, but just barely -- he's been in a coma for three weeks. Everyone has to deal with it... including himself.
1. I Get To Wondering

Title: Stairway to Heaven  
Author: Disgruntled Peony  
Timeline: Takes place after the ending of the series.  
Spoilers: Let me put it to you this way. If you haven't seen the end of the series, DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER! There's bound to be spoilers littered all over the place.  
Author's notes: This is an experiment, as much as anything; I've been trying to write a novel, but my description has thus far been sorely lacking. So I decided to try my hand at a descriptive story, in a forum where I could get feedback on whether or not I was actually doing a good job at it. That's where you readers come in. ;) Please, if you read my story, drop me a line and let me know what you like or dislike, both about the story in general and about the description (or lack thereof). Also, about the story: I know that Spike died at the end of the series, but fanfiction is all about exploring alternate possibilities... and this is what I think might have happened if he didn't. (I'm sure countless fics have been based off of this idea, but don't write my story off until you actually see what I've got in mind. Chances are, I just might surprise you.) 

* * *

He was dead. Or as good as dead, anyway. Being in a coma for three weeks basically qualified someone as dead, didn't it? That's what Faye wanted to believe. It was what she had to believe. Because if she thought that Spike would live and he didn't... no, better not to continue that train of thought. Better not to let it enter her mind at all.

But if she thought of him as dead, why did she keep visiting him?

Mostly for Jet's sake, she told herself. He kept dragging her over to the hospital when he went to visit, on the grounds that she needed to get her ass out of the casinos once in a while and do something that was actually worthwhile. Faye thought he had another reason, though. She thought he didn't like being in that hospital any more than she did, and he'd decided that if he was going to torture himself because of some archaic feeling of loyalty, she should suffer as well.

She sighed and leaned back on the faded yellow couch... the couch Spike had fallen asleep on countless times, the couch that Ed and Ein had bounced on when they were playing haphazard games of tag. Funny; when she finally decided that the Be-Bop was her home, it had turned out to be as much of a fantasy as the house back on Earth. She was haunted by memories and the ghosts of people who had moved on, with only Jet and his bonsai trees to keep her company.

"What am I doing?" she growled as she sat up, greatly displeased at the fact that she had caught herself moping. She was getting sentimental when she had no reason to be. This called for a diversion. She'd been getting pretty good at coming up with them, lately. Off to the races, then. Off to bet and lose more money, to add to her ever-increasing debt. It had grown so large that it didn't matter whether she won or lost; she'd take it with her to the grave.

She stood up and walked to the docking bay, forcefully ignoring the memories that each corridor seemed to evoke. Why, when she actually wanted to forget things, was her memory so sharp?

Of course, situated in the docking bay was the most poignant memory of all: the Swordfish II. It was... no, had been Spike's ship. When he died, it would become Jet's. But it wouldn't, not really; Jet would never use it. The ship would just languish in the hanger, gathering dust, just an empty shell without a purpose.

A tear slid unbidden down Faye's cheek. It was closely followed by a growl of fury. She had no reason to be getting choked up like this. So Spike was as good as dead. So what? It was his own damned fault, running off to the Red Dragon headquarters in a homicidal rage. Not that he'd looked particularly angry... with Spike, it was always hard to tell what he was feeling. But Faye had begun to learn how to read between the lines, to peek under his masks just enough to know how sad and angry he'd been when he left.

Jet's voice boomed through the docking bay. "You're leaving again?"

Faye gasped with surprise, glad she had her back turned to the door so Jet couldn't see she'd been crying. She wiped the tear off her cheek, forced a cheerful expression on her face and turned around. "Yup. There's a horse out there with my name on it."

Jet shook his head. "This won't solve anything, Faye."

Faye felt herself bristle at that comment. "Who said I've got anything to solve?"

"You're running."

"No, that would be the horses' job."

Jet glared at her irritably. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

Faye's voice rose, echoing throughout the hanger in a staccato burst of sound. "Look, I'm not the one with issues! If Spike wanted to run off and get himself killed, that's no skin off my nose."

Jet's jaw dropped in disbelief. "He's not dead yet!"

A bitter laugh escaped Faye's lips. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

Jet stalked out of the docking bay, no doubt mumbling a string of profanities under his breath. Faye clamored into the Red-Tail and began to prep it for take-off, muttering a few choice expletives of her own.

* * *

Spike sat at the bottom of a staircase. It stretched up into the clouds, white and glistening. It reminded him of the stairway he had seen once in a mushroom-induced hallucination, which was disconcerting. But he'd been there long enough to get used to it. He didn't know exactly how long he'd been there... it could have been days, months, years even.

He was waiting for something. He didn't know what, exactly; he just knew that it hadn't come yet, he was tired of sitting there, and if whatever he was waiting for didn't come soon he was going to do something stupid. Something like walk halfway up that staircase and then jump off. That at least might get somebody's attention.

He wouldn't really, of course. That would mean getting up. And, as tired as he was of waiting, he didn't feel like getting up without a reason to. There would be no point to it.

"How much longer are you going to sit there?"

Spike's heart leapt, although he managed to keep his expression stoic. He'd know that voice anywhere. It was Julia. "Oh, I'd say 'till about... now." He stood up and turned around, a sad smile playing across his face as he looked at the blonde-haired beauty standing before him. "I missed you."

Julia returned the expression. "I missed you too."

Spike wanted to rush over, to wrap her in his arms and bury his face in her hair... but something held him back. He settled for tucking his hands in his pockets and tilting his head to the side in quiet admiration. The silence became drawn out, and a feeling of awkwardness set in. When Spike could stand it no longer, he spoke.

"I killed Vicious."

He said it without guilt or remorse, his tone as casual as if he had been merely discussing the weather. But he could feel his body tense after he spoke, his entire being awaiting Julia's reply. 

Julia nodded slowly. "I know."

Well, of course she would know. She was dead too, after all. And if Spike was talking to her, that meant.... "It's over."

"What's over?" Julia asked, her expression darkening.

"The dream." Julia didn't respond, so Spike decided to be blunt. "I'm dead, right?"

Julia sighed and turned away. "Spike, the dream is only just beginning."

Spike's eyes narrowed. What was that supposed to mean? "Julia...." Julia began to walk away. "Julia!" Spike rushed after her and grabbed at her arm with the intention of turning her around to face him.

His hand passed right through her.

Spike came to a halt and stared at his hand, eyes wide with shock. He looked up at Julia again and understanding began to dawn on him. She wasn't really there. None of this was real.

But even if she was an illusion or a figment of his imagination, he couldn't let her leave. Not until he'd found out what was really happening. "Julia, wait!" he yelled, and rushed to catch up with her. He didn't bother trying to grab her, this time; he ran right through her, then turned around, fixing her with a steady gaze. "Tell me what's going on."

Julia looked back up at Spike, eyes filled with sorrow. "I'm sorry, Spike. I can't tell you that."

"You can tell me everything, you know that."

Julia shook her head. "No, I can't. I don't know what's going on any more than you do."

"So you don't even know whether I'm dead or not?"

Julia lowered her eyes. "You're not dead... but from what I can tell, you're not really alive any more either."

Spike could feel the belligerent teenager in him rising up to the surface. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Julia began to walk again. She stepped right through Spike with all the tangibility of a ghost. "You'll have to find out for yourself."

Spike whirled around, ready to barrage Julia with a fresh set of questions, but she had disappeared. All that was left was a single red rose lying on the ground at his feet. He bent down and picked it up, fist tightening around the thorny stem. There was no pain; yet another confirmation that this was some sort of illusion. Spike returned to his former position beside the staircase, shoulders slumped, and stared at the rose. For one fleeting moment, he had thought that he and Julia could finally be together. But, as always, he had ended up alone.

To be continued....


	2. I'll Get Over It

Despite her best intentions, Faye didn't end up at the races. She ended up at a small, run-down hospital that ninety-five percent of the population of Mars didn't even know existed. It was in that faded white building on the border of civilization that Spike was being treated -- although in Faye's opinion he wasn't being treated so much as he was being maintained. 

She honestly hadn't expected to end up there. But she was so preoccupied with being pissed at Jet that she hadn't paid very much attention to where she was going. Before she knew it, the Red-Tail was hovering over the hospital. And since she was already there, she might as well take a peek inside.

The doctors said Spike's condition hadn't changed, and Faye almost left then and there. But a feeling of morbid curiosity prodded her onward. She slunk up to the fifth floor and poked her head into Spike's hospital room with a great deal of trepidation. A part of her was sure that Spike would keel over when she was the only person in the room, just to spite her.

The doctor was right; nothing had changed. Spike was lying in bed, his head propped up with a pillow. His skin was unnaturally pale, almost white, and his usually huge, curly hair was matted to his head. In short, he looked... weak.

The IV and the constantly beeping monitors added to that impression, but they were not the cause of it. Spike had always been full of energy. Sure, sometimes he acted like a lizard sunning itself, but even then his reflexes were faster than lightning. Now that spark, whatever it was that made him what he was, was gone. Spike Spiegel had left the building.

Faye shuddered. She had barely looked at Spike since he had been admitted to the hospital, for precisely these reasons. It made her feel sorry for him, and she didn't want to feel sorry. She wanted to feel angry. Hell, forget angry, she wanted to feel furious. She wanted to grab him by the lapels of that stupid blue suit he always wore and shake some sense into him. A little yelling would be nice, too, just so long as she was the one doing it. But she couldn't very well do that to a vegetable. It would defeat the point. She wanted Spike to be there, to be staring at her with those two-tone brown eyes and listening, actually listening, to what she was saying. What she was really saying, not what was coming out of her mouth.

Yeah, like that would ever happen. She snorted in disbelieving amusement. Then she stalked over to a corner of the room and leaned against the wall, giving Spike her patented Glare of Death. She had no doubt that it really could kill someone, if she wanted it to. She just never tried hard enough.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

No reply. Faye hadn't expected one, but it still stung. If Spike had just been ignoring her, she could have gone into a full-blown tirade with a clean conscience. But she didn't feel comfortable yelling at someone who honestly couldn't hear her, let alone yell back. She pulled out a cigarette and lit up, taking a moment to let the nicotine begin to flow through her system before she continued.

"I bet you're dying for a smoke, right about now."

Still no reply. Faye was very quickly coming to the decision that that she hated one-sided conversations.

"You know what I hate the most about you?" She took a moment to let that sink in, as if it had anywhere to sink into. "You honestly don't give a shit. You don't care what I want, what anyone wants. I don't think you even care about what you want, anymore."

Or maybe he didn't know what he wanted, which was probably worse. Faye took another drag on her cigarette.

"You know what I want? I want things to be the way they were. You know, before everything changed." She also wanted to wring his skinny little neck, but that was hardly a topic for civil conversation.

She could just hear Spike's reaction to what she had said. He would fix her with a patronizing expression and say, 'Yeah, catching 50 woolong bounties and eating dog food fresh from the can. Those were great times.' And, in his infinitely sarcastic way, he would have been right -- most of the time things had been bad, bordering on terrible. But every once in a while things had been okay. Good, even. And as for the rest of the time... well, misery loves company, and it was something that Faye happened to be very well-acquainted with.

She flicked the ash off her cigarette with a practice motion, then stared at the glowing end. "You didn't care what would happen to us when you left. That's another thing that pisses me off about you. You don't care about anyone." She considered that statement for a moment and then amended it. "Anyone but your precious dead Julia, that is."

That's what this all came down to, in the end. Julia. Sure, she had been beautiful, and she was one hell of a driver, but Faye didn't see what made her so special. In the end she was just a pretty woman, and there was certainly no shortage of them in the universe. If Spike had just curbed the attitude a little and maybe gotten a haircut, he could have had almost any woman for the taking. Why he had decided to try for the impossible was something Faye didn't understand.

Well, maybe she understood it. Maybe she understood it a lot better than she wanted to admit. But that didn't mean she had to approve.

Faye dropped her now spent cigarette to the ground and crushed it with the tip of her shoe. "I think I like you better this way. The conversations are nicer, that's for sure."

That was a lie. She would have liked nothing better than for Spike to sit up in that bed and ream out a scathing retort. But he wasn't going to, so there was no point in thinking about it.

"Well, that's enough sterling conversation for today. Goodbye, Mop-head." She straightened up and sauntered out of the room without a backward glance. She had no intention of shedding any more tears over that comatose idiot.

But a part of her, maybe the last remaining part that was truly honest, knew that she probably would anyway.

* * *

Jet was in the middle of a stand-off with one of his bonsai tree, and had been for the last hour and a half. He knew it needed trimming, but he and the tree could not seem to come to a conclusion about what branch to trim or how much it needed. Jet had done nothing but stare at it stubbornly for a good 45 minutes.

After one last examination of the tree in question, Jet stood up with a groan and walked out into the main living area. His back was sore from sitting so long. It brought to mind the time he had complained to Spike about back pains, which of course had started Spike in on an extensive list of herbal remedies that claimed to get rid of it once and for all. Of course, most of the so-called cures were so ridiculous and disgusting that they weren't worth the attempt....

But now, Spike was the one in need of medical attention.

Any bits of happiness that might have managed to accumulate for Jet in the past two hours were squelched in the space of two seconds. He had known from the beginning that it was wrong to let Spike go alone. He'd known that Spike had no intention of coming back alive from whatever destruction and mayhem he was planning to cause. If Spike awoke from his coma and discovered that he was still among the living, he would probably be disappointed.

And yet Jet had let him go alone. He still wasn't sure why. It went against his training, not to mention his sense of ethics. But it had seemed right at the time. There was no way he could have talked Spike out of it, and there was certainly no way he could have talked Spike into letting him go along. Still, if Spike had asked, he would have gone in a heartbeat.

Jet's thoughts were interrupted by the beeping of one of the Bebop's computer consoles. He hit a button and a communications window opened up, revealing the face of an old friend from the police force, Bob. The ghost of a smile flitted across his face. "Hey, Bob. How's it going?"

"I've got something for you, Jet," Bob said, leaning forward so that his face dominated the screen. "A big bounty, hasn't been officially released yet. Name's David Card. He's a government scientist turned biological terrorist. He was spotted yesterday evening on Mars."

Jet nodded curtly. Terrorists were always trouble. "How much?"

"150 million woolongs."

Jet whistled. "That's a nice catch."

Bob nodded. "Better watch out, though. This guy means business. And he's suspected of involvements with one of the Syndicates."

"Don't worry, I'll keep it simple." Jet paused while he considered what else to say. "How're things going with the force?"

Bob shrugged. "Shitty, same as always. How about with you?"

Jet smirked and replied, "Shitty. Same as always."

Bob chuckled. "Talk to you later, Jet. We should catch a movie or something soon. It'll be like old times."

Jet nodded noncommittally. "Yeah... just like old times."

Bob disconnected and Jet closed the window, staring at the motionless computer screen as if he was waiting for it to reveal the secrets of the universe. But it didn't, so he started the walk toward the docking bay. Halfway there, he heard the click of Faye's heels against the metal plating of the floor. His eyes narrowed and he stopped in the middle of the hallway as she came into view, arms crossed. "What took you so long?"

Faye shrugged. "Busy day." Her expression seemed veiled, although Jet didn't know what she had to guard against.

"How were the races?" he asked, voice riddled with sarcasm.

Normally Faye would have responded with a scathing comment, but she merely met his eyes with a tired, saddened gaze that caught him off-guard. "I gambled. I lost." She seemed to realize that a crack had appeared in her façade and she hurried to cover it up, smoothing her expression into a perfect representation of nonchalance. "How was your sojourn with nature?" She nodded toward the room where Jet kept his bonsais.

Jet eyed Faye suspiciously, not sure what to make of her momentary lapse in composure. "Quiet." Things were quiet pretty much all the time, with Spike and Edward gone. And, much to his surprise, he found that he had begun to miss the noise. "Listen, I'm going out for a while, so try to leave the ship in one piece."

Faye raised an eyebrow. "What, you've got a hot date?"

"More like a hot bounty," Jet remonstrated, not in the mood for Faye's particular brand of wit and cunning.

"And you haven't invited me along? I'm hurt." Faye stuck out her lower lip in a pout.

Jet rolled his eyes. "You want to come, Faye?"

"Nope," she exclaimed cheerfully. "I've had enough excitement for one day."

Now it was Jet's turn to raise an eyebrow. "It's 150 million woolongs."

"On the other hand, who doesn't like excitement?"

Jet sighed and accompanied her to the docking bay. He'd only told her how big the bounty was because he was tired of catching criminals on his own. Faye had been too busy gambling to go bounty hunting in the last three weeks, and while he'd actually managed to get a small sum of money stored away -- a stunning accomplishment, considering how quickly money seemed to disappear on this ship -- he missed having a second person to research with and being able to talk to someone on stake-outs.

As he climbed into the Hammerhead and prepared for take-off, he couldn't help but think that he would have felt more comfortable if Spike had been coming along for the hunt too.  


Author's notes: Sorry if this seems a little slow-paced to anyone; I never promised a rollicking action-adventure fic. What I promised was description, and I've been doing my best at it. So far it's mostly been character and thought description, but I'm going to try my hand at physical description in the next chapter.... We'll also be exploring Spike's twisted psyche! Yay!


	3. Ain't Gonna Fight It

A/N: Sorry this took so long! And I forgot to mention that this story had spoilers for the movie, as well as the episodic stuff. So, umm... consider yourselves warned! 

* * *

Spike stared at the lone rose in his hand, its red color muted by the shadow that was cast over the barren landscape. He was once again seated at the bottom of what he had dubbed the 'stairway to heaven' in honor of his old buddy, the frog from his drug-induced hallucination. It seemed suitably ironic since he was hallucinating, or at the very least dreaming, again.

He had no intention of walking up that staircase. Despite its assigned nickname, he doubted very highly that there would be anything good at the top. No Hollywood endings, no explanation for having been forced to endure the drawn-out soap opera that was his life, and no awakening, either. Just a fresh set of dreams to occupy his time.

Maybe that was why he was waiting here. He was tired of exchanging one dream for another, of letting his hopes carry him higher than life would allow. Vicious was dead, Julia was gone... and he had left the crew of the Be-Bop behind. He had no one to go to, nowhere he could really call home. This was as good a place to dream as any.

He twirled the thorny stem of the rose between his fingertips, focusing all his attention on the motion of the flower. Funny; the moment Julia entered this dream-world, he had been sure she was the one he was waiting for. But she had left. Spike could not begin to guess at what point or purpose she had in showing up in the first place. But it had left him hollow, just as he'd felt that evening in the cemetery so long ago. He had experienced a great deal of abandonment in his life, but Julia's had always stung the worst.

A sudden gust of wind tugged at the rose-petals, tearing a few from their base and carrying them off in a haphazard fashion. Spike looked up, startled, and discovered that his surroundings had changed. What had once been an infinite expanse of nondescript skyline had transformed into a lush, well-groomed park or botanical garden with golden butterflies flitting across the landscape. The only thing that had remained intact was the staircase that stretched up into the sky and out of site.

Spike was not awed by the beauty of the place. He was suspicious. Any place that seemed too inviting was bound to have a dangerous side to it, and he remembered these butterflies from his encounter with Vincent Volaju, the 300 million woolong bounty that had come close to killing him on two occasions. He stood up and began to survey the area, not of a mind to be caught unawares.

He had almost come to the conclusion that he was completely alone when he spotted a wooden bench on the far side of the park, situated under the boughs of a massive oak tree. A man in a black trench-coat was sprawled across it length-wise, taking full advantage of the shade.

Spike's eyes narrowed. "Vincent...." He had never quite been sure whether he hated Vincent or identified with him. The man had thought he was living in a dream, and Spike understood that feeling. Still, Vincent's attempts to 'wake up' had hardly been anything Spike was eager to condone. Even in his heyday at the Syndicate, he had never been one for terrorism and mass murder.

Vincent cracked open an eyelid, then smiled lazily. "Hello, Spike."

"What are you doing here?" Spike growled. Vincent had no right to haunt him.

Vincent shrugged. "It's as good a place to be as anywhere else." The similarity to Spike's earlier thoughts was eerie.

"You're not welcome here, so I guess it's not as good a place as any after all," Spike drawled. He would never have admitted it, but he was threatened by Vincent's presence. Vincent was a ruthless fighter; he and Spike had been evenly matched, the second time they'd fought. Still, if Volaju was looking for a fight, Spike was ready to give him one.

For the moment, at least, Vincent seemed satisfied with remaining on his bench. "I'm not looking for trouble. I came to ask you a question."

Spike was curious now, despite himself. "You can ask anything you want, but whether or not I decide to answer is up to me." He leaned against the oak tree, the roughness of the bark massaging his back.

Vincent's expression didn't change, but his tone became grave. "Do you want to live?"

"You came to ask that?" Spike hated those sorts of questions. They made him think. They also made him want to smoke. Damn, but he could go for a cigarette right now. 

Vincent focused his low-lidded gaze on Spike. "Do you have an answer?"

Spike's expression darkened. "Everything I was living for is dead. What do you think?"

"I think you don't know the answer to the question any more than I do." Vincent stood up and began to follow the path into the distance. "I think you'd better find out, before it's too late."

"Too late for what?" Spike asked, his suspicions renewed.

Vincent just shrugged and continued to walk down the path. The farther he went, the more the landscape seemed to run together, all the colors mixing into a muddy gray. The butterflies followed him, shimmering like a sunset. Soon Spike was standing at the foot of the staircase once again, with nothing but dark thoughts and a long un-sated nicotine addiction to keep him company. He glared down at the rose in his hand, which had begun to droop. Why couldn't Julia have left him a pack of Marlboros instead?

* * *

Faye was seated behind a garbage dumpster located in what she had decided was one of the dirtiest alleys on Mars. It was riddled with assorted pieces of trash and debris, all of which was covered in a coat of mud and slime, and the dumpster's oh-so-lovely scent added a great deal to the already disparate appearance of the place. No bounty head was worth this kind of torture.

Earlier that day Jet had discovered the location of David Card's current living quarters and decided that a stakeout was necessary. Apparently, he thought they were one of the highlights of the investigative technique. Faye thought they were boring as hell. She had been unable to bring him around to her point of view, however, and after a good half-hour of bickering they had taken up a position in the alley behind the apartment building where Card currently resided.

Faye hated stakeouts. A stakeout meant she had to sit still anywhere from two to six hours in what were invariably nasty places with nothing to do but think. And this time she was stuck with Jet, who was in the same predicament except he seemed to prefer to vocalize his thoughts. The ensuing conversations went something like this:

"You ever wonder how they put the holes in donuts?"

"No."

"Maybe they have some big cookie-cutter assembly line. Or maybe they just roll the dough out that way somehow...."

"Who cares?"

"I do!"

"You don't count."

A short pause usually followed that sort of remark, and then....

"How do they get the filling in the jelly ones?"

"Shut up, Jet!"

And then Jet would finally fall silent, leaving Faye to ponder the eccentricities of donuts, jelly or otherwise, until he came up with another inane subject to pester her about. They had already gone through three topics in this manner, and Faye was almost ready to give up on the bounty and admit herself into the nearest insane asylum.

Jet opened his mouth to speak. Faye cut him off with a sharp, "No."

"But--"

"No!"

"I just--"

"I don't want to hear it!"

A short pause, and then...

"But I just--"

"Shut up, Jet!"

Faye lit a cigarette and began to puff away at it furiously. Jet lit up too, which meant that he had decided to give up, at least for the moment. But of course, now Faye was curious about what he hadn't had the chance to say.

She waited as long as she could, when her cigarette was little more than ash and filter, then cast a glance in Jet's direction and asked in a long-suffering tone, "What?"

Jet, who had probably been waiting for her to give way, extinguished his stub and said, "I was just wondering how you did at the races today."

Faye bristled. "I already told you."

"Just humor me, Faye."

Faye shrugged and focused all her attention on a particularly dirty piece of litter on the opposite side of the alley. She didn't want Jet to know that she had been visiting Spike instead of gambling. She wasn't sure why, exactly, but the very thought of telling him made her chest tighten. "I lost. I always lose." She laughed. "You'd think I'd be used to it by now."

Jet's expression changed; he appeared to be seriously considering Faye's remark. "Maybe part of you's still hoping for that one big score."

Faye gave a contemptuous snort. "I quit hoping for anything a long time ago."

Jet shook his head slowly. "Humans need hope to survive." He glanced over at Faye, the ghost of a smile haunting his face. "And you're human, just like the rest of us."

Faye was about to come back with a derogatory remark about Jet's parental lineage when a tall, skinny man with wire-rimmed glasses began to walk across the mouth of the alley. Jet motioned for her to be quiet and stared first at the man, then at a picture he'd obtained from the local police department. He pointed at the photo, then at the man, indicating that it was indeed Card who was passing by. Faye barely kept herself from letting out a squeal of delight; the stakeout was finally over.

Card walked by without a glance in their direction. Faye tensed, knowing that she wouldn't be able to see him actually enter his apartment complex. She heaved a sigh of relief when the light came on in his second-story window. Jet drew his gun and motioned for her to follow him inside.

When they reached Card's door, Jet looked over at Faye. "Alright, I'll go in and get him. You stay here as back-up."

Faye shook her head. "No way! You hogged all the research for yourself, I'm not letting you claim the whole bounty. I'm the one going in."

Jet glared at Faye indignantly. "I didn't hog anything! You abandoned me at the third bar!"

"That's not the point!"

"I'm the one in charge here and what I say goes," Jet said sternly.

"If anyone's in charge here, it should be me!" Faye yelled, waggling her gun in his face.

Just then the door to the apartment swung open and Card stepped out into the hall, an inquisitive expression on his face. "Excuse me, but would you mind keeping it down out... here?" By the time he finished his sentence, both Faye and Jet had their guns aimed directly at his face.

* * *

To be continued....


	4. Over Her Shoulder

Author's notes: I meant to update this sooner, I swear... but I had tests to take, I kept losing my pages, and above all I hadn't written a synopsis of this story so I wasn't quite sure where it would go. However! I have now taken my tests, found my pages and written a synopsis, rough though it may be. Theoretically, the chapters should come along a lot faster now.  
Technical note: I don't know what that communicator-thingy Jet uses sometimes on the ship is called, so I'm calling it a telecom... if anyone knows the proper term, please let me know and I'll correct it. 

* * *

Faye had a hard time suppressing the urge to laugh. This Card guy had a huge bounty on his head, the police were after him and the majority of the bounty hunters in the galaxy soon would be as well... and yet he'd just walked out into the hall as if nothing were amiss. How much more careless could he be? She gave him a feral grin and drawled, "And here I thought you'd be trouble."

Card seemed remarkably unperturbed by the situation. He leaned back against his doorjamb smiled nastily. "I'm tempted to thank you for dropping by. I was thinking about hiring a hooker for the evening, but it looks like you've saved me the trouble."

Faye would have punched Card for that comment if Jet hadn't beaten her to it.

"That's no way to talk to a lady, "Jet growled, his gun inches from Card's face.

Faye blinked in surprise. "Since when am I a lady?"

Jet rolled his eyes. "Well, whatever you are, you're not a whore."

Faye batted her eyes in an exaggerated semblance of innocence. "Aww, my knight in shining armor is defending my honor. How sweet." And it was sweet, after a fashion. It was nice to know that Jet thought highly of her... or at least, he didn't think of her as the scum of the earth. She would never tell him that, though.

Card looked like he wanted to say something, but a quick glance at Jet, who still appeared violent, seemed enough to convince him to keep his mouth shut.

Faye decided it was time for her to take charge; couldn't have Jet trying to claim all the bounty for himself, after all. "Alright, scumbag, here's the deal. Either you come quietly, I'll tell Bruno here to rearrange your face."

Jet huffed indignantly. "Bruno?"

Faye gave him a shut-up look, then focused her attention back on Card. "Get it?"

"Got it," Card mumbled.

"Good," Jet snarled.

"Good," Faye repeated triumphantly. She nodded to Jet. "Cuff 'im."

"Why do I have to cuff him?"

"Because you're the one who's got the cuffs."

Jet holstered his gun and crossed his arms. "You haven't done anything to earn your share of the bounty so far, you cuff him!"

"That's not true!" Faye protested, mentally cursing because Jet had figured it out. She'd hoped she'd be able to slip that little detail by him if she was careful enough. "I got that arms dealer on 45th street to give us Card's address."

Jet's expression had reverted to his patented deadpan glare. "That was me."

"Alright then, I got that blond transvestite at the precinct to tell us about the arms dealer on 45th."

"Me again."

"Nuh-uh!"

"I asked all the questions while you sulked by the door."

"He wouldn't have answered your questions if he hadn't been staring at my boobs."

"He wasn't staring at your boobs, Faye."

"What, you think he was staring at my beautiful eyes?"

"The guy was gay. He had no reason to stare at your boobs."

"No, I distinctly caught him staring at my rack...." Faye trailed off as she realized that Card was no longer leaning against the doorjamb. In fact, he wasn't near the door at all. All she could see of him was the top of his head disappearing down the apartment staircase. She charged after him, at the same time yelling to Jet, "Damn it, you're letting him get away!"

"I'm letting him?" Jet repeated incredulously, also in hot pursuit. "I'm not the one who started this argument!"

"Yes you are," Faye said, leaping in front of him just as they reached the top of the stairwell. Jet tried to answer her, but she ignored him; she was too busy trying to figure out which way Card had gone when he ran out the door.

"I'll go right, you go left," Jet said as they exited the apartment, "and no arguments!"

Since 150 million woolongs were on the line, Faye decided not to press the point any further... for the moment, anyway. She ran down the alleyway Jet had chosen for the stakeout earlier, trying to ignore the sensation that she was running through raw sewage, looking around frantically for any sign of Card's whereabouts. She slowed to a halt when the alley once again opened onto a main street, chest heaving and shoulders slumped with defeat. If he had gone that way, there was no chance she'd be able to find him.

Faye walked back to Card's apartment complex in a sulk. Jet returned shortly, looking as bitter and disappointed as she felt. "You didn't catch him, I see," Faye jibed.

"You didn't either," Jet replied.

Faye sighed and tucked her gun into its holster, then leaned back against the wall in what she thought of as her sultry, sexy pose. "I guess we're back to square one."

Jet shook his head. "No, I'm back to square one. You are going back to the Be-Bop so that I can actually catch this guy without having to worry about you screwing something up!"

Faye's eyes narrowed, but that was only a slight indication of how angry she became at Jet's comment. She straightened up, placed her hands on her hips and focused her patented Glare of Death on Jet.

Jet realized, too late, how upset Faye had become; he took a couple of steps backward and held up his hands in a placating manner. "Faye, take it easy now...."

"I'll take it as hard as I damn well please!" Faye yelled. She jammed a finger against Jet's chest vehemently. "If you think that I'm some lazy, over-rated, two-bit...." She couldn't think of a suitable ending for her sentence that didn't involve the words 'slut', 'whore' or 'bitch', so she decided to move on. "Why do I even bother? It's not like I enjoy staying on your crummy, beat-up ship anyway! I'll just... find someplace else to live!" She whirled around and stormed off down the street, not slowing her pace until she rounded the corner two blocks down, where her Red-Tail was stashed. She peeked around to see if Jet had followed her. He hadn't. She slumped against the wall and swore under her breath.

She knew she shouldn't have exploded at Jet like that; everything he'd said was spot-on. And to top that off, she couldn't show up at the Be-Bop now without looking like a loud-mouthed idiot. Of course, Jet probably thought she was a loud-mouthed idiot already... but Faye didn't want to give him even more reason to think so. She would have to spend at least part of the night away from the ship, which meant she wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight because she didn't have anywhere else to go.

Finally she gave a resigned sigh and trekked back to the lot where she'd parked the Red-tail. She got inside, made sure the doors were locked and the air-vents were open, then pulled off her jacket and rolled it up into a pillow. After a brief struggle to find a position that wouldn't leave her with overly severe cramps in the morning, she closed her eyes and did her best to prepare for a fitful night's sleep.

* * *

Jet was once again in the middle of a mental war with his uncooperative bonsai tree; however, this time it decidedly had the upper hand. Most of his mental processes were geared toward being royally pissed off at Faye. The tree had managed to get away without a single bit of trimming so far, which would have made Jet even angrier if he'd taken the time to realize it.

It took a great deal to make him angry. He did his best to maintain a calm, analytical frame of mind. But time after time, fate had conspired against him. The people who had taken refuge inside his ship were proof of that. He would have been hard-pressed to find crazier, more infuriating roommates if he'd tried. One of them was always testing the limits of his patience, it seemed.... Or rather, had seemed. With Spike and Edward gone, things had calmed down quite a bit... and if Faye decided to leave for good, which might very well happen after her little outburst back there, Jet would have the Be-Bop to himself.

Surprisingly, the thought was not comforting.

Eventually he realized that it was getting late. He left his tree to plot future victories, but decided to forgo his bed in favor of the ratty old couch and the droning company of the television. If Faye did decide to come back before morning, he wanted to be ready to give her a proper reaming-out.

He must have dozed off, because he was awakened by the sound of his ringing telecom. He sat up groggily, turned it on and squinted at the screen. His eyes widened when he realized that Card's face was smirking back at him.

Card spoke. "Oh, good, you're there after all. I was starting to wonder if you'd ever answer."

"What the... how did you get this number?" Jet sputtered.

Card shrugged. "It doesn't matter. But this does: I've done some research on you and your little group of bounty hunters, Mr. Black. I know all about you. And I think it would be in your best interests to stay on my good side."

Jet's eyes narrowed. "Are you threatening me?"

"Oh, no, not you. But your friend, one Mr. Spike Spiegel, is in the hospital. Comatose, if I'm not mistaken. It would be a shame if he never had a chance to wake up."

Jet understood immediately what Card was insinuating. He slammed his hand down on the table. "You son of a bitch!"

Card didn't react verbally to Jet's exclamation, but his expression turned icy. "I recommend dropping my bounty. Pretend that I don't exist. It wouldn't be wise to ignore that advice. I always make good on my threats." With that, the screen went blank.

Jet dropped the dead telecom, shaking with rage. If Card had delivered his ultimatum in person, Jet would have been seriously tempted to break open his skull.

If Spike had been awake, the situation would have been drastically different; his level of stamina and tolerance for pain were among the highest Jet had ever seen, and he would never allow someone like Card to get the drop on him. But now... now there was only one viable option.

Jet leaned back on the couch and sighed. "Damn. I really could've used that money."

* * *

To be continued....  



End file.
